(This story was partly inspired by an rp between myself and Febobe.) Hurt/comfort? Yes. Angst? Yes. Plot? You may want to read elsewhere.

The only thing I own here is a wicked imagination and two healers. All the rest belong to JRR Tolkien. This is fanfic, folks.

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"Isildur!"

For a moment all he could do was stare at Isildur's retreating back, his mind refusing to grasp what had just happened. But the heat of the mountain began to make itself felt even to elven blood and Elrond turned to follow him toward the arch of dark sky just visible amid the smoke and fumes.

His mind still whirling with the consequences of Isildur's actions, the elven lord did not see until too late the huge orc waiting just beyond the exit. Only a sudden sense of foreboding made Elrond rear back as the ragged blade sliced diagonally across his body, cleaving his armoured breastplate sharply in two. The elf had only a moment of stunned stillness before he fell into fiery agony, consciousness fleeing with a strangled cry.

The orc had no such sense to warn it of Glorfindel's presence and it took the full brunt of the balrog slayer's blow. It's huge bulk landed atop the crumpled Elrond for only a moment before Glorfindel heaved it aside. Stripping off his glove the warrior tucked his fingers beneath his friend's chin, relieved to find a pulse still beating there.

For a moment he sat on his haunches trying to decide what to do. Elven armour was not intended to repel close attack, only to turn aside a stray arrow. For an orc to come so close to an elven warrior of Elrond's skill and experience was most unusual and Glorfindel could not imagine how it had happened. The overlapping plates of Elrond's breast piece had been sliced almost in two from right shoulder to left hip; the fine mail beneath similarly rent. An ominous tide of red pulsed out through the sharp edges and began to pool beneath Elrond's still body.

Glorfindel stood to look out across the plains of Gorgoroth. The tents of the healers were only just visible through the smoke and fighting, far in the distance. He glanced down again. As a warrior he had learned some of the basic healing skills but this cut was too long for him to staunch with nought but his bare hands. Elrond needed skilled healers with all the necessary equipment to hand. The problem was getting him there before he ran out of blood. On the other hand, if he stayed here, Elrond would very definitely bleed to death.

With a whispered prayer to Este, Glorfindel gathered up his friend and began to run down the treacherous cinder road that zigzagged down the mountainside. Only an elf could have been so sure footed on the treacherous surface or as swift to avoid the poorly aimed blows of still fighting orcs.

By the time he reached the plains Elrond was beginning to moan in pain but Glorfindel did not slow, his passage followed by many shocked elven eyes. To lose Gil-galad and his herald in the same day would be more than could be borne and many cleared away the bodies and redoubled their efforts to fight off the still struggling orcs, in order to provide Glorfindel with safe passage.

In his arms Elrond lay limp, his head lolling helplessly over Glorfindel's arm and his gored hair almost sweeping the ground. In their wake dripped a trail of blood and Glorfindel could feel Elrond's precious life sliding down the front of his own armour.

Oooooooooo

"Carefully, my lord. Do not move him again if you can avoid it."

Glorfindel grimaced. With two healers pressing firmly upon Elrond's chest, their hands disappearing within the slashed armour, it was unlikely that even Glorfindel would be able to move his friend.

He dried his scarlet hands upon a towel and began to pick anxiously at the delicately wrought buckles at Elrond's side and shoulder. He sighed, defeated by more blood. It seemed to coat everything and Glorfindel glanced up to reassure himself that Elrond did indeed still breath. How it could be so when there seemed to be more blood outside his body than within, he did not question too deeply, grateful only for this small mercy.

Growling in frustration as the leather strap refused to yield, Glorfindel grabbed up one of the waiting scalpels and sliced through the gore-stiffened hide. Within moments the front of Elrond's plate armour was lifted away and all drew in a breath as the full extent of the damage could be seen for the first time.

They had hoped that the scimitar had sliced only the armour from shoulder to hip and that the cut would not extend as far on Elrond's flesh. The gaping lips of the chain mail shirt told a different tale, however for it followed the line of the rent in the plate armour precisely . . . as did the leather jerkin and fine silk shirt below. Blood, welling ominously more slowly now, flowed from the full length of the tear. For a long moment the two healers stared hard, then their hands flew to grab more dressing to pack the wound.

"Lord Glorfindel, we will need to remove the mail. Can you fetch others to help? We must move him swiftly and gently. He can ill afford to lose any more blood but we must get him undressed if we are to help him."

The words were punctuated by another low moan and Elrond stirred slightly, his eyelids fluttering as he struggled for consciousness. One of the healers called out to Glorfindel's already retreating back.

"Wait, my lord. Quickly. He will be in too much pain when he awakens. We must keep him still."

Glorfindel was back at his friend's side within a heartbeat, obeying the signal and moving to replace a healer's hands on the crimson wad of dressings as the other sprinkled pungent liquid on a pad and pressed it gently over Elrond's mouth and nose.

"Breathe deeply, Hir Elrond."

Whether the words penetrated their charge's consciousness was unclear. It looked as though Elrond would struggle at first, but with each inward breath he grew quieter, eyelids stilling as his head rolled helplessly to one side.

"He will sleep now. Go Lord Glorfindel. Fetch helpers."

Even with several helpers cutting free the chain mail it seemed an age before Elrond was stripped of chain and clothing and the healers could begin in earnest their work of stemming the ebb of his life.